


Black Book of Fear

by ThereminVox



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereminVox/pseuds/ThereminVox





	Black Book of Fear

 

 

 

_ October 11. _

 

To John, it would be any average day. A birthday was nothing remarkable. It simply reminded him of being yet another beat closer towards permanent adornment of polished, pine overcoat. An open casket and tombstone with his name engraved, cast away to yet another adoptive family of maggots, earth and soil. The skin of the land would become him. Nothing more would he be than a face to remember by the ripest fruits of Aphrodite. 

 

 

To be awoken in abrupt fashion, with little to no regard for basic human decency, was to be expected at that ungodly hour. As God would have it, a very special puppet was to arrive as a battering ram in the brisk Autumn night. At the stroke of 10 PM, whilst John was invested in witted prose of Dickens, comfortably tucked away in bed, he had almost vividly imagined the dreaded scene of mushroom clouds in the distance. Of a prophecy, premature in delivery, reigning chaos by spates of radiation. 

 

 

The sound was near deafening, and with half a mind lent to fear, that quaking echo was still clear as ever throughout the hollow expanse of his ranch.  _ What the Dickens! _ is what that missing half would have likely exclaimed, shooting up and ruining those perfectly creased sheets, to stand and stare at the closed double doors, leading out to a balcony where he was sure to see the cause of his disruption. 

 

 

_ God damn it, Jacob! There’s still two hours left in the day! _

 

 

His eldest brother was keen on disturbing the peace during this “momentous” occasion. With the clock striking midnight, he would send a number of those wretched Judge wolves howling before his home. A chorus of incessant wails forcing John to take refuge in his designated bunker. The wolves would follow as he slipped through the back entrance, evading by means of his signature aeroplane but he at least would be able to get rest instead of provoked towards loathing the inevitable emergence of his 30s. 

 

 

Three years later, and the same tradition was destined to repeat itself. However, there were no wolves to be heard. And as he hesitates before the door, hands shaking just so as they hovered above the doorknobs, a quick shuffling of feet from behind has his heart nearly ejecting from his throat as a steady strain of heavy, labored breaths diverts his attention with a slow twirl to assess his intruder. 

 

 

The Deputy was the last person he’d expect to see. And oh God…

 

 

Scarlet. There were scarlet streaks everywhere. Expanding shades of red in the waxing moonlight. 

 

 

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t breathe. 

Before her form could slump to the ground, he was there within measured seconds, securing her within desperate grasp. His chest was caving in those hurried moments but it was nothing compared to the pain he could see beyond memory. 

 

 

Her body was a sinking anchor in the growing abyss, blood seeping into the floorboards, dripping down into the concrete, merging with the skin of the earth. A gaping wound, carved into various shapes of claw and teeth marks, etched deep along her rib cage, dangerously inching against her breast just below the heart. 

 

 

“ _ John _ …”, his name slips weakly from her pallid lips. A silent prayer of helpless admission. 

 

 

_ What the fuck is happening?  _

He knows it was one of Jacob’s. Can see the faint glow of red cross insignia against the growling grey head. He had gone too far with his trials and the results of his sadistic indoctrination had come to this. 

 

 

Words escaped his frazzled mind as he merely decides to hold her as close as possible, rocking her gently back and forth as he moved them to lean against a nearby dresser. The gashes were bleeding profusely and the clinic was a too far drive at this point, especially with no one on duty. 

 

 

Leaning down to whisper soothing reassurance in her ear, John submits to the blurred vision and  streaming lines dripping onto her cheeks. Her own choked sobs were fading in strength, faint heart beats straining against his own still erratic rhythm, almost seeming to cling for exchange. He didn’t know how many moments had passed, nor did he care for the shouts threatening to escape his lungs as he began to weep audibly into the unforgiving stillness. 

 

 

Limp wrist, held firm in hand, still granted lingering pulse against his palm and he only offers one final glance to her now placid features, tilting his head back against the dresser with a light thud. Senses were too deadened to register a brief stab of pain as a solid object thuds upon his forehead, ricocheting to the ground. 

 

 

The title was as a beacon in the pitch of that darkened corner. He briefly wonders why he had even bothered saving a copy. The plight of his sin was a rising chorus in mind. Voices, urging him to indulge the seams of Wrath as he grabs the book in crushing grip, wanting nothing more than to rip at the binds and send every sheet into abiding blaze. 

 

 

Crescendo of chants escalated against his temple until one lone, bitter hiss of sovereignty aimed to stand out above the rest. 

 

 

 

 

_ Happy birthday to Me…. _


End file.
